


I died in your hands, you bled out in mine

by fakesheep-luna (octavaluna)



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Angst, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Civil War, Post-Fallen Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octavaluna/pseuds/fakesheep-luna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Tony Stark has dreams.<br/>Today his dream comes with damp eyelashes and a pair of dry lips that taste like a stranger but talk like the love of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I died in your hands, you bled out in mine

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the events of Fallen Son.

 

He isn't sure for how long he’s been sitting here, remembers tripping with his coffee table when there was still light behind the windows and being too tired to drag his ass off the floor. He should get up, he has so much work to do there are no seconds to waste, much less hours, and yet if someone walked into this room right now they would find the infamous Tony Stark in a very undignified position. That if they see him in the darkness, of course.

He just… he feels so exhausted. Not physically, his body is fine thanks to extremis, but there is this weight over his shoulders that he doesn't seem to be able to shake off. It drags him down, slows his every move, and makes it almost impossible to get out of bed the days that he actually manages to get into one.

He stays away from the bottle; doesn't want to screw up more than he already did, although he isn't sure if that’s even remotely possible.

 

And sometimes - he dreams.

 

It doesn't happen often, it’s mostly nightmares nowadays, twisted memories that no human being should deal with, and yet…

But sometimes he dreams. Of good times, of when he could fly over the city and feel free, of warm eyes and carefree smiles on familiar faces, of being loved and respected and not having to endure disdain and hate for every hour of every day… he has dreams and the next day after those it's always harder to cope than after a nightmare.

 

He hears heavy footsteps somewhere behind him. He knows their sound, their tempo, their rhythm by heart. Another dream then.

The owner of the footsteps draws back the curtains, making the moonlight pool around the room, then moves carefully and sits down cross-legged in front of Tony. He is in uniform but his cowl is down, letting the disheveled blond hair fall over his ears and eyebrows. It’s longer than how Tony remembers it but looks good nevertheless.

The dream smiles. It’s feeble and ethereal, only meant for those who trained themselves for a decade in catching those gestures. There are dark circles around his sad blue eyes, and a frown line between his eyebrows. He looks worse for wear but then again, Tony is not the one to talk.

“Hi” Tony mumbles never breaking the eye contact.

“Hi” The dream answers back.

They both smile, for real this time, and drink in the sight of each other. Or at least Tony does. He traces with his eyes every feature of that beloved face, takes a momentary refuge in the wet warmth of the dream’s gaze. How cruel can his subconscious be? How longer is he going to keep torturing himself?

“You’re dead.”

“So are you.” His hallucination fires back almost instantly. And it’s not dull and resigned, like Tony’s tone, it buzzes with contained emotion, with desperation and pain and impotence. Tony wants to hold and cuddle him, assure him that everything’s fine, that his sorry ass is very much alive, but he can’t bring himself to lie anymore. Because he’s breathing, and working and (barely) eating, but what else? What else is there for him that draws the line between living and just existing?

“I love you.” He says, because he always wanted to say it for real but now will never have the opportunity to. “I always loved you and always will, no matter how many years pass or how much shit life throws at me. Even after everything that we did to each other, even after watching you die with my own eyes. As long as my heart keeps beating I’ll keep loving you.”

“Lucky me.” Dream-Steve smiles wider and leans in until his warm lips touch the corner of Tony’s mouth, who feels lightheaded at the contact. They are dry and slightly rough, but feel so, so real against his skin. Tony doesn't know if this is one of those really vivid dreams where you can actually feel and touch and smell, or it’s just his grieving, affection-starved mind finally going off the rocker. He suspects the latter because Steve, his Steve, would never do something like that. Never mind there were moments, in a time long past, when Tony though he actually might have been hiding something more than friendly affection behind easy banter and lingering touches.

 

But if this is what madness comes with, Tony can’t find any reason to cling to sanity. He clings to the man of his dreams instead, pressing their lips tighter together and leaning closer. Steve sighs and caresses Tony’s lower lip with his tongue, requesting entrance. He is granted it and in turn cradles Tony’s head in his hands, thumbs stroking lovingly the sharp edges of his jaw. It’s slow and wet, a timid slide of lips and tongues that has Tony trembling after a minute. He releases a shaky breath and Dream Steve moves to kiss his neck.

“You feel so real.” Tony whispers reverently… and the kissing stops. Steve blinks up at him owlishly from where he still has his lips half parted and an inch away from the brunet’s skin.

“What? Tony, I am real.”

“Oh my love, not even I can make every product of my imagination come true.”

 

Steve pinches him.

 

“Auch! What the…” He stops. Then looks at the rapidly reddening spot on his wrist. He is not new to the ethereal sensation of blinding pain in his dreams, but somehow this whole scenario feels too… surreal to be another nightmare. Tony long ago learned that his reality is much weirder than any fantasy he could come up with.

“You are dead.” He repeats.

“So are you.” Steve parrots back. “In my universe at least.”

 

Oh. Of course. How didn't he think about that before? Alternative universes are a hot thing now.

 

Still, better than losing his mind or wake up cold on the floor with a ghost of a touch raw in his memory.

This is Steve, this is actually Steve. Real and alive, warm and solid. Just… not his. Then again, the Steve from this universe was never his in the first place.

But if the hand caressing the side of his face is anything to go by, the other Tony could have posessed that gift before passing away. It feels wrong to accept the signs of affection not meant for him.

It’s more difficult to pull away from the touch that he anticipated, but he does it anyway.

“Stop.” He turns away further when Steve tries to reach out again. “We… we were never like that in this world.”

“Not for the lack of want, I imagine.”

“You… he never saw me this way.”

“How can you know?”

“I just know. I am sure. It wouldn't have made any sense if he had.”

“Why?

“If we start listing reasons you will be here till tomorrow.”

“Longer if I have to call the bullshit on every one of them. I don't have enough time for that, though.”

 

_There is never enough time..._

 

“Cap…”

He shifts and sits besides Tony, back to the side of the couch, the line of their shoulders pressed close.

“Not Cap, not anymore. And… we weren’t like that in my world either. I waited too long to tell you, was too afraid of rejection, of damaging our friendship. And then the war happened and I was so angry at you, and at myself for not hating you like I should have that… You were the bravest one at the end, even if it was… you told me, with your last breath. I don’t know what’s worse; remembering every day how the person I will always love the most bled out in my hands, or knowing that maybe, if we just were more honest with each other, if we placed more value in our relationship than our pride, maybe… you would still be alive. You and so many more.”

“Oh, Steve.” Tony breathes out, suddenly overwhelmed because he understands, piece by piece how the other man feels, every strand of pain and guilt, every shadow of doubt and self-blame… They are wounded with the same bullet in the same place and it only feels natural to take one of his hands and squeeze it between two of his own. “Oh, winghead.”

“He loved you.” Steve blurts out, squeezing his fingers and turning to look him in the eye, so earnest and determined it’s impossible to look away. “The Me from this world, he loved you till the very end. I swear Tony, It couldn’t have been in any other way. Even when you tore each other apart he wanted to reach out and kiss you, make it all stop and lock the world away.

“If he lived…”

“You would have worked it out.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“But I can hope. And I can try.”

“What?” Tony frowns and Steve shifts the grip on his hand, entwining their fingers.

“I am not here on a social call, Tony. I… I am here to apologize, and to beg. And hope you at least consider the offer I’m about to make you.”

 

Confussion aside, there is just so much of big, sad puppy eyes that Tony can take before giving in. He indulges himself and leans closer, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. The big dork blushes and Tony can practically feel one of the knots in his chest getting loose. “Go on then.”

 

“My world is a mess. A horrible, scary mess. After your death it became really obvious what you’ve been doing all along. Without you working yourself from inside out to keep the Registration as righteous and stable as possible, Henry Gyrich became Director of SHIELD and now is hunting us all down with sentinels piloted by junior agents. We can't kill them but they do not share our moral restricions and we've already lost several of our own. On top of that they engage in auto destruction when they are losing. The registered superheroes started protesting his methods and now they are on the run too.

SHIELD can’t stand their ground against the supervillains and instead of defending the people they attack us every time we come out to help. Everything is a disaster since you are gone. The people… Nobody ever realized how relied on and trusted you were back then, but everybody misses you now. When it was you running the show from the inside there was order and a moral code. Even my followers understand that now. More than a common enemy, it's the mourning that is uniting both ends of the previous conflict. But we are still too shattered, to fragile and hostile to be called a unit again.

When looking for alternatives Reed found a world where you died before the war and never became engaged in the first place. It… it was so scary. And now my world is following exactly the same footsteps. And everybody is waiting for me to do something, to lead and to protect them, to be the Captain America that I haven’t been for a long time. They expect me to do freaking magic or something, they remember when we practically worked miracles both in the battlefield and the conference rooms and compare it to how I’m barely able to cope through the day now. Half of them treat me like a grieving widow the other half try to push me out of my head. But I can’t… I... I can’t be what they need, or even strong enough to keep up. Not without you.

Even when we were miles apart I always knew that you were there. Sometimes when we faced threats so crazy and apocalyptic that all hope seemed lost I stopped trying to defend the world for the sake of it and focused in fighting for you. For the world you fought for, and cared for and shaped with your science and your titanic force of will. You were always half my strength, my guiding light. Without you… I just can’t find my way, and everything is so twisted, so dark… And I miss the sound of your voice, your teasing and flying together. I miss it with every breath I take.

When… when we were fighting I kept hoping that at the end of this we would be able to work it out, no matter the outcome of the war or how much we hurt each other. I expected us to yell and grunt at each other but with time and patience… and love.”

 

At this point he is practically shaking, his face buried in the crook of Tony’s neck, who keeps running his fingers through Steve’s hair reassuringly, and holding him close.

“This is not a fairytale, Steve. Love isn't the strongest power in the world.”

“But it is!” Steve protests lifting his head, and his eyes are rimmed in red but he looks determined. “Reed also found a couple of worlds where it all worked out. Nice, beautiful worlds. In them we always stood side by side and came up with an acceptable solution together. We were the key, we are always the key. The two of us. If we work together we build a better world, if we fight we tear it apart.”

“And I’m the pretentious one?”

“It’s not pretense, it’s reality. The Fantastic... three now, we… we have a plan. It’s inspired in one of those successful solutions the other us came up with in their own realities. It has a good theory, enough support from both yours and mine sides of the conflict… it could work.”

“But?”

“But I am in the heart of it, and I am the one who’s supposed to make it work. And I don’t think I can.”

“Steve, of course you do! You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“No. I couldn’t even save the one person I can’t live without, how am I supposed to save my whole world? And don’t even try to contradict me now, I know you feel the same way. ”

 

There’s nothing really that Tony can say to that. He does feel the same way. Except that he takes comfort in his work, makes it his only focus and measures the time in reunions and amounts of paperwork. In any other situation Carol would drag him out for a flying race or Jess would make him go to a party, however…

 

“At least you have friends left. People that still love you and that you can trust.”

“Yeah, well, not that I’m not grateful for that but none of them are my shellhead.” Tony smiles at the endearment and Steve’s feeble attempt to lighten up the mood. He can’t decide if he should really be enjoying this or not; they are so close Steve is half sitting on his lap and his heat and familiar scent are all around Tony, his soft hair tickling the underside of Tony’s jaw. And yet, all that he can think about is that even if Steve is real, this isn’t. This won’t last. If he lets himself give into this, once it's over the crash will kill him. But- “I need you.” Steve whispers into his skin and it would be so easy to let go, to fall into his warmth and let him in, accept his affection and give him all the love that’s threatening to break Tony.

 

“What do you want from me?” He chokes out shakily and Steve’s arms tighten around his shoulders.

“I didn’t chose this world on a whim. Our realities are really alike. The only differences being that in mine there were six members of the Beetles and which one of us dies at the end of the SHRA conflict. The differences start from there. Tony I know you are not happy and that you are unfairly blamed for my death. I know your world is holding on and that you are detached from it. But Tony, in my world you are beloved. And missed. Even after the War, after everything that happened, your death and what it brought upon us was what reconciled the superhero world. There are still those who are bitter for some of the choices you made, but even they see now how much worse it could have been without you.”

“And your idea is to stage a resurrection scenario? To take me with you and to use my status as a martyr, or whatever, to implement your idea?”

“What? NO! Tony I need you not because of your influence but because it’s YOU. I’m just saying that… you could be happy. In my world, you could be with your closest friends, and have back the ones you lost and… it wouldn't be easy, my world is a mess I already told you that but… you could make it into this grand project of fixing it, you love fixing things. And… “ Steve looks away, ears and cheeks going adorably pink “We could try… this.” He signals between them “If you wanted to, of course.”

Tony snorts. “This must be the worst idea you've ever had.”

“No, the worst was kissing you during that truth or dare game six years ago.”

“Clint thought you wouldn't take the dare.”

“Shouldn't have. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since then.”

“I was so drunk. I thought I've dreamed that up until I saw the security footage.”

“You squeaked for a month every time you saw me after that. I was beginning to feel really insulted, on top of rejected.”

“Never rejected you, though.”

“If only I'd known that back then.”

 

Steve leans in and kisses his cheek. And they are so close, and fit so perfectly together... It's bittersweet, and comfortable, and everything Tony ever wanted. But it's still an impossible offer. Tony has a responsibility with his own world, his people. And this is not the same Steve he fell in love with, even though, apparently, they share even the silliest of memories and quirks. He is still not... no...

 

Something whistling fills the air and a circle of light appears a few feet away from them. The portal.

 

“That's my cue.” Steve says, and his voice is thin and strained the way it should never be. “Please, Tony... I know I'm asking far too much but-”

“I can't. I really don't, I must stay and... and... you know it's not that simple. It never is.”

“It never is. That's why we are where we are right now... Tony...”

“I can't.”

 

Steve looks at him, really looks, with those imploring, wet, blue eyes. And Tony's breath catches. He doesn't know what else to say, anything sounds stupid and weak in the light of all the love and angst in them. He leans in one last time and deposits a chaste kiss on Steve's lips. “Good Bye, beloved.”

He is cradled then in a pair of strong arms and warm hands, a quick strong hug that knocks the air out of him, but just too soon Steve is getting up and, with a last brush of his thumb across Tony's cheekbone, taking a step back.

They share one last look and the other man turns, walking towards the portal with unsteady steps, and Tony watches him. He looks tired and defeated in the blinding light of the portal. Shoulders slumped and head down, not a trace of the proud and mighty Captain America that Tony worshiped since he was a kid. This is a man letting go of his last hope. The portal is around him now, swallowing the outlines of his body and making him look ghostly and ethereal like an actual dream.

 

And it suddenly occurs to Tony that this _wasn't_ a dream. That Steve had actually been sitting besides him, that Steve kissed him, and cried on his shoulder, and begged... that... that this is not only about Tony actually. It's not only Tony who had this small window of opportunity open for a while, who experienced having the love of his life back from the dead for a few minutes. It was the same for Steve, and that it's Steve who reached out for him and was rejected, for real this time. Steve who will be in pain after this.

And fuck! Fuck it all! Tony is tired, so so tired. He's been fighting for this world most of his adult life, risking his skin every time he put on the suit, working himself into exhaustion and never ever anyone actually pulled him aside and thanked him for it. All he ever got in exchange for his bruises and panic attacks was Steve. Beautiful, brave, Steve. And Tony lost him because he was too prideful, too obstinate to be truthful both with himself and with his best friend.

And now the multiverse has granted them both another chance, a chance to be together and to fight together for a better world. And Tony turned it down, hurt Steve all over again and for what? For a world that hates him? That blames him for the death of the one person they all think they loved more than he still does?

 

His legs shake when he gets up, too stiff after hours of sitting on the floor, but he grits his teeth and lunges forward, across the room and into the portal. Steve looks surprised when he grasps his arm and is about to protest but the naked hope in his eyes is more powerful than anything he could say and Tony grunts at him, voice low and sharp “Shut up, before I change my mind. Just shut up!” and Steve does exactly that, shuts them both up with his lips and tongue and hands wrapped around Tony's hips, and pulls them further into the light that is now swallowing them both, twisting and tearing them apart atom by atom to reassemble them again on the other side, in another world, a broken reality where they still have a chance, and a dream to claim as theirs.

 

It's not going to be easy. Not everyone will cry and hug and kiss Tony, not everyone will believe their story or trust him to be the actual Tony Stark, and that without mentioning how confused the general public will be.

And Steve was right, that reality is a goddamn disaster, it's at its breaking point and there is so much to do. The greatest project of their lives. They will have to fight, and to work hard, will have to be cunning and brutal. But on lazy Sunday mornings, when they wake up in each other's arms and kiss the rest of the world away, every second is going to be worth it.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I broke 616 (or you can think about it as another identical universe, whatever suits you best)
> 
> Steve doesn't come from any universe in particular, there is an infinity of them after all, but two official Marvel universes are mentioned:  
> -The scary world where Tony died before the war: Earth-2108 -> Everyone who thinks Tony Stark was the villain in CW should read this.  
> -The beautiful world where they took the idea for a viable solution from: Earth-10208 -> Avengers Utopia.  
> [Both are part of Marvel's _What if?_ collection and you can read the issue here.](http://fakesheep-luna.tumblr.com/post/109046695656)
> 
> The blog hosting the post is my tumblr, btw.


End file.
